


Wet Dreams I thru VI

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-07-31
Updated: 1998-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 13:12:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11336226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Scully has an erotic dream about her boss.





	Wet Dreams I thru VI

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Wet Dreams I by Merri-Todd Webster

DISCLAIMER: They belong to Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox (and, in a just world, to Gillian and Mitch as well), but they don't tell *them* their sexual fantasies--they tell *me* (and hundreds of others!).  
Feedback is welcomed at .

* * *

*********************  
Wet Dreams I  
by Merri-Todd Webster  
*********************

Dana Scully did not usually have trouble sleeping. Even when the cancer had been at its worst, exhaustion had overcome worry, and she had slept reasonably well without help from the prescription the doctor had given her. But lately, her sleep had been really broken, and she didn't even bother to look for the pills. They couldn't help with this particular reason for sleep loss.

She'd awakened drenched in sweat, her hair sticking to the back of her neck, her thin nightgown sticking to her breasts. And her thighs were even more drenched, but not just with sweat.

<Wet dreams,> she thought wryly. Women might not be as obvious about it, but it didn't take testosterone to wet the bed with frustrated desire. The sheets were so clammy she had to get up, get away from them. Take a cold shower.

The shower wouldn't cool down her desire, maybe, but it would refresh her, and feeling fresher would help her relax. Plus, the sheets would get a chance to dry out. She turned up the air conditioner and then headed for the bathroom, peeling off her nightgown and dropping it behind her. 

Scully adjusted the water to a temperature just a shade cooler than she normally liked it. Only when she got under the spray did it occur to her that the cool water would only make her nipples harden more. She ran her hands ruefully over her breasts; the nipples were tighter than ever now, so tight they hurt, yet her touch was... soothing. Shrugging, she pulled her hands away and filled them with herbal-scented shampoo instead.

<I don't know which are worse, the Mulder dreams or the Skinner dreams.> Tonight she had been dreaming of Skinner, shifting images of the tall, broad-shouldered AD looming over her, looking down at her, getting much closer than he ever would in the office... a heavy hand on her shoulder, or curving around her small waist, drawing her close... the man's always hard, tight-set mouth softening, smiling even, as he bent to fit his lips to hers-- 

Scully realized her sudsy hands had wandered from her scalp down to her breasts again. She was playing shamelessly with her own nipples. Sighing, she leaned back and rinsed the soap from her hair, quickly but thoroughly, smoothed on the requisite conditioner, and then reached for her moisturizing oil.

The hell with it.

The oil was cool and slightly creamy against her slick folds; hardly necessary, really, but if she was going to masturbate in the shower, she didn't want to be sore later. One foot propped in the corner of the tub, she massaged her swollen clit, testing her level of arousal, how much stimulation she'd need. It was always better if the mind accompanied the hand....

"I was concerned about you, Agent Scully."

Skinner's voice is flint rubbing on granite, as always, his eyes unreadable behind the utilitarian spectacles. The sun streaming through the large windows behind him casts his shadow almost into Scully's lap.

"I know, sir."

Skinner leans forward across his desk. His eyes disappear in the glare of the sun; his muscular body is a wall of darkness. "You don't take care of yourself enough. You go out and take risks like a man. You're not a man. It's dangerous."

Dana swallows nervously. "Yes, sir."

Something that might be a smile twists the AD's lips. He pulls off his glasses and polishes them with his handkerchief. "I suppose that's a sexist statement. You're a good agent, and a good shooter. Between your brains and your gun, you're more than a match for most men. But you're still... fragile, in some ways. Since your illness."

Dana wonders what to say to that, if anything. She knows all too well that she scares a lot of men, that they call her the Ice Queen precisely because they see that she's way too passionate for them to handle. Still, it startles her a little to hear those sentiments coming from this man, someone who makes her feel like cotton candy much of the time. It's not just the superbly male body under the not-quite-fitting suit; it's the iron will, the burning focus, the fact that compromise isn't in the man's vocabulary. Dana Scully has met very few wills to match her own, and Walter Skinner's is one of them.

She licks her lips, unconsciously, and notices Skinner has gotten to his feet and is coming around the desk toward her. She starts to tremble when he puts one hand, no, just one finger under her chin and tilts her head back to meet his eyes.

"Do you think I'm a match for you, Agent Scully?"

Major trembling, crossing over into shaking. "Definitely, sir."

She expects the first kiss to be crushing, dominating, but it isn't. Instead, it's surprisingly gentle, slow and lingering, giving each of them time to taste and feel the other. When he draws back, her hands are on his chest, pressing hard against the firm muscles there--not to push him away, but simply to steady herself.

"Dana--"

"*Yes*, sir."

Sitting back on the desk, he pulls her into his lap. Strong arms wrap around her, fold her close, and her arms twine around his neck, holding on just for the pleasure of doing so. The next kiss is more forceful, his tongue delving deeply into her mouth, and she simply drops her head against his arm and lets him, whimpering softly as her arousal heightens. Something is opening up inside her, fast and hot, and it's not just physical. She feels utterly safe and secure in a way she hasn't felt in ages. Everything is going to be all right.

Skinner breaks the kiss and looks down at her, his eyes searching her own. Scully doesn't think she can still speak, so she hopes her eyes say everything he needs to know: Yes, sir, here, sir, now, anything, anything you want, just take me. Part of her is damning herself for her instant surrender, like an actress in a 1930s movie, like a heroine in a cheap romance novel, but another part of her is insisting how badly she *needs* to surrender, give up control, admit she needs to be protected, if only from herself, needs to take shelter just for a little while with someone stronger than she is. He *is* strong, strong enough that she can let down her defenses with him... strong enough to understand when she has to put them back up.

His mouth closes, none too gently, on her throat, and she sighs, deeply, knowing her offer has been accepted. He finds that spot near her jaw that makes her writhe and rubs it with his tongue until she gasps in disbelief, feeling fresh wetness surge between her thighs. A quick hard kiss to her lips again, and then his hands are at her waistband, pulling out her blouse with efficient little jerks.

"I have to see you, Dana. I have to see you--"

Scully wriggles out of her jacket at record speed, then raises her arms over her head. Skinner pulls the blouse off and tosses it aside, then reaches around for the clasp of her bra. Are his fingers really trembling? They feel like fire against her back, they leave trails of fire on her skin as they draw the silky bra forward, down her arms, and away from her breasts.

She closes her eyes as the fabric leaves her damp skin, arching her back without even meaning to. Her nipples harden still more, even before Skinner's palm comes to rest over one.

"You're beautiful." She's never heard him whisper. "Exquisite. Perfect."

She clings to his neck as his hands move from supporting her to caressing her. His still-clothed erection is nudging her thigh, and his large hands are kneading her breasts with sure strength, sending waves of pleasure rippling over her to crest at her center. Her groin is a heated whirlpool pulling and drawing in, waiting for something to grab onto. She moans loudly when he tugs on her nipples, can't stop moaning because now his fingers are on one, his mouth on the other. Scully keeps moaning, a low, throaty, not quite rhythmical sound, as he suckles and fondles, switching hand and mouth, and then one hand slips up under her skirt, heading up her thigh for the whirlpool in her cunt.

"Yes," she moans, dropping one leg off his lap to give him access. Skinner finds her hose and panties and simply rips them away, leaving her crotch uncovered. It's not a violent or hurtful act, just impatient and very efficient. She doesn't have to wait too long for his thumb to settle on her clit and his long, thick fingers to glide into her, opening her for his cock. She's so wet it's a wonder she can feel any friction, but she can, delicious friction, a heavy hand fucking her, she wants it, needs it, his thumb grinds on her clit and she's so close--

It's godawful when those fingers pull away, and she bites her lip to keep from pleading. But Skinner slides backward onto the desk, and his hands urge her to kneel astride him, giving him room to undo his pants and free his erection. She feels the wide, wet head bump her, god it's so big he's never going to fit. He changes position a fraction, not hurrying now. "Go on, Dana. Take me in. Take your time."

He's big under her hand, as hot as she is, so full the skin feels like the skin on ripe fruit, about to burst. Her hand guides him into her cunt, and he holds incredibly still as she lets her weight down on him. "God!" He stretches her, fills her more than his fingers did, she's never taken a man this big. His hands on her back hold her steady, and his face is vulnerable yet oddly calm.

"That's it. Does it feel good? I don't want to hurt you."

"Good--" she manages to say, "so good...." A harsh groan escapes her when he's in all the way. His hands close tightly around her waist.

"My turn," he mutters. And he lifts her, just lifts with his hands on her waist, and lets her down again. Both of them grunt a little. He does it again, grunting not with effort but with pleasure. She lets him do all the work, lets him lift her small body and feels how easy it is for him, feels how wonderful it is just to cling to his shoulders and let him move her. Her head rolls back, and he presses his face into her breasts, and suddenly he groans, "Dana," and he's moving beneath her, lifting her and thrusting up as he lets her down again, he's probably hitting her cervix but it's so good, she's coming, his mouth on her nipple and her cries and the silent tensing of his whole body as he arches up to her and lets go into her and fills her with himself.

Her head bumped the wall of the shower, and conditioner began to run into her eyes. Slowly, swaying on her feet, Dana Scully withdrew her hand from herself <*Four* fingers?> and backed up under the spray, hoping against hope to rinse it all away.

*********

end

 

* * *

 

Sat, 2 May 1998  
<>  
DISCLAIMER: Nothing here belongs to me except the kinky imagination. And it's not all that kinky. To Chris Carter and Fox be the glory.  
All NC-17, all the time. Feedback welcomed at .

* * *

***********************  
Wet Dreams II  
by Merri-Todd Webster  
***********************

Skinner flushed the toilet and then washed his hands thoroughly. <I am too damned old for this.> It was one thing to wake up with your own come on your belly at seventeen, but at forty-something-- And worse still, to have been dreaming about one of his subordinates....

Lately he'd been dreaming about both of them, frequently. Often he dreamt about Scully. Just his luck to have the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen as his subordinate. Too often he dreamt about watching Mulder drive Scully out of her mind with pleasure, and vice versa. But tonight, he had dreamt about Mulder, just Mulder. It had been years since he'd had erotic dreams about other men. It hadn't even started out erotic; no, it had started out romantic, which was worse, and then gotten erotic. Skinner thought he could handle a wildly erotic dream about anybody every once in a while, even if it were Jack Nicholson or Ruth Gordon. The dreaming mind speaks a strange language. But this dream, the sweetness of it, and Mulder....

He wakes up slowly, feeling rested, contented, comfortable. The light shining into his consciousness, calling him forth, is golden and warm. Gradually he becomes aware that the sun isn't the only source of warmth in the vicinity. There is someone else in his bed, sleeping as peacefully as he was himself a little while ago, and putting out heat of various kinds.

Carefully, so as not to disturb the sleeper, Skinner turns over. He sees, above the crinkled white sheet, a shock of unruly brown hair and a slender bare neck. From the cut of the hair and the length of the body beside him, he knows his bed partner must be a man. But who...?

As if in response to that unspoken question, the other man stirs, stretches out one arm, fist clenched and then relaxed, and languidly rolls over, yawning loudly at the same time. The sleepy eyes open and they are hazel, the color of a yellowish amber, the pupils like inclusions from the Jurassic age. Fox Mulder.

Mulder's eyes focus on Skinner's face, and he smiles an incredible smile. It is sleepy, affectionate, contented, sweet, and it makes Skinner's heart melt and his cock harden simultaneously. Mulder's smile is unmistakably the smile of one who has been well loved the night before and awakens with the anticipation of more of the same. Those full, beautifully shaped lips part, and a hand on the back of Skinner's neck brings him in for a good-morning kiss.

Mulder kisses sweetly, lazily, rubbing his mouth against Skinner's, letting the other man's tongue dart out, lick, coax its way inside. Mulder tastes so good, dry and tangy like a good red wine, and while Skinner's tongue is exploring the younger man's mouth, Mulder is inching closer and closer, until their bodies are touching from tongues to toes. Skinner's arm loops around his lover, strokes down to the small of his back, and hauls him in so that there's no space between them, making both of them groan. Chest against chest, belly against belly, cock against cock, and Mulder is moving sinuously, their thighs sliding against each other, Mulder rubbing his cock on Skinner as unself-consciously as a cat wanting attention.

Skinner finally pulls back with a little gasp. "Good morning," Mulder drawls, still smiling.

"Morning." Skinner is too aroused to say much more, but fortunately Mulder isn't interested in further conversation. His hand wraps around Skinner's cock in a leisurely fashion, stroking it in an idle but knowing way that suggests he's touching himself, not someone else. Vague memories of the previous night flash through Skinner's mind, fucking and being fucked, Mulder's hands all over him and Mulder's sweet mouth.... As if reading his mind, Mulder pushes aside the sheet and blanket, baring both of them to the cool air, and kneels over the older man, grazing Skinner's chest with his lips. Those full lips brush his nipples, then sweep inexorably down the center of his torso until they nuzzle the root of his cock, buried in coarse dark hair.

"Mulder...."

Mulder is kneeling now with his head over Skinner's groin and his ass toward the other man. His lips travel slowly up Skinner's cock to the head, and Skinner places a hand on that tight, muscular rear, just to brace himself at first. He groans as wet heat encloses the swollen head, a tongue probes delicately at the slit there. His hand runs caressingly over Mulder's ass and slips into the cleft to nudge the puckered opening.

Mulder wiggles, but it's not an encouraging one. "Sorry, Walt," he mumbles, kissing his lover's stomach, "but I'm a little sore from last night." Skinner withdraws at once, strokes the other man's thigh as more of his erection is sucked in, then turns in Mulder's direction, indicating with his hips and his hands that they should both lie on their sides.

It's Mulder's turn to groan when Skinner takes hold of his erection. Skinner licks the whole length of it--Mulder is a bit longer than he is, but not as thick--thoroughly but not too intensely. Mulder simultaneously pushes into his lover's mouth and eases up with his own mouth, moaning softly. They work on each other with slow care, their knowing fingers and mouths agreeing to prolong the pleasure. Each new move by one is answered by the other: fingers fluttering up and down the length, palm cupping the taut balls, tongue swirling, a subtle thrust and the cheeks drawing tight with sucking. It comes to a peak when Mulder, unwilling to wait any more, takes Skinner all the way in, his mouth so tight and so wet, so good, and pushes the tip of one finger into Skinner's asshole.

Skinner explodes so violently he can't believe it, his whole body rigid with pleasure as it spurts out of him in long slow splashes. He comes so thoroughly he can't even move to finish Mulder off. But the younger man doesn't seem to mind; he's smiling that sweet boyish grin as he pushes Skinner onto his back, then kneels over his lover and pumps his fist, throwing his head back in ecstatic silence as he comes all over Skinner's stomach.

Smiling, Mulder drops onto the bed beside Skinner, burrowing in under his arm and tucking his head in the hollow between chest and shoulder. He is still gasping a little, and so is Skinner. Skinner strokes the soft, ruffled hair, the lean shoulder, and Mulder rubs his come into the older man's skin with lazy, rhythmless motions. Neither one of them says anything, and Skinner can feel himself drifting into a doze again....

Skinner realized he was touching himself, hard again. Damn. <I am definitely too old for *this*.> But it had felt so good to wake up, within the dream. To wake up next to Mulder. And so shockingly bad to wake up without him, in reality.

"Damn."

*********

end

 

* * *

 

Sat, 2 May 1998  
<>  
DISCLAIMER: How many different ways can one write this? Not mine: I'm playing with someone else's toys, but playing nicely, I hope.  
This is definitely totally and purely NC-17. Feedback is welcomed at .

* * *

**********************  
Wet Dreams III  
by Merri-Todd Webster  
**********************

Bad. Very bad.

Bad enough to dream about Scully. How could he not? Seven days a week, sometimes, she was by his side, all day, most of the night, and he was constantly reminded of how gorgeous and brilliant and courageous and trustworthy she was. He had to love a woman who could outtalk him. On the job, no doubt, your partner was your life, and Mulder was damned happy that Scully was his partner and his life. It was understandable that his dreams tossed up images of her being more than his work partner, of an easy segue between work and leisure, Scully always by his side, of sleeping in the same bed on those cases that took them on the road for days.

But Skinner...?

Shivering, Mulder wrapped his arms around his torso and went to the closet for a blanket. He had definitely been having a highly erotic dream about... Walter Skinner. Jesus. Okay, the man had a great body and Mulder certainly enjoyed men almost as much as women and he'd actually started to trust Skinner almost as easily as he trusted Scully, but still....

He's kneeling on his couch, facing the back and holding onto it for dear life. He's naked and painfully erect, and there's a large hand gripping his left shoulder firmly, almost too firmly. That hand digs into his muscles, kneading, holding him still while another hand strokes the cleft of his ass, easing between the curves of muscle to delve into the opening there. Mulder hears himself moaning softly, beseechingly, but the man behind him is silent, a focused silence that makes Mulder all the more aware of his presence. He can feel the strength in the hand and arm that steady him, the rough texture of the palm, smell the musk of the other man distinct from his own, two flavors of arousal like tenor and bass in duet, but he can't see his lover, can't hear him.

One slick finger penetrates his body with confident carefulness. It's a touch that knows how to do this, how to make it easy and pleasurable, and it's a touch that knows him, Mulder, specifically. He moves with it and feels it intensely as it glides all the way, smooth and slick, filling him. "Please...." The hand on his shoulder tightens fractionally, and the pressure inside him shifts, strokes across his prostate. Mulder makes a sound suspiciously like a sob, his arousal heightened still more by that touch and by the determined silence behind him.

The finger withdraws and is replaced by two. Mulder throws back his head, grinds himself in slow spirals on the fingers that are stretching him. The cool gel of the lubricant heats up rapidly in the friction of their bodies. "Touch me," he begs, not quite sure what he's asking for. A terrific shudder runs through him as lips brush across the back of his neck, light and dry, a minimalist caress. The lips stay there and the fingers press deeper, gently, and the steadying hand tightens, until Mulder's sure he'll have a mark, even a bruise. He doesn't care; it's going to be so good when it happens....

He cries out sharply when two fingers are replaced by three. It is on the verge of being painful and yet so good, to be this filled. Mulder's hands clench on the slippery black leather; he is shaking, and his knees are wet with sweat against the couch. "Please," he says again, close to coming just from this, and the fingers slowly pull out of him, leaving him empty and shaking still worse.

Then the hand leaves his shoulder and wraps around his chest, the tantalizing lips open against the back of his neck, and the head of his lover's cock seeks entrance. It is wide and thick and stretches even more than his lover's fingers; the sensation balances, teetering, on the tightrope between pleasure and pain, and would tip over at once if the man taking him were any less patient, any less controlled. He sinks slowly into Mulder as if he has all the time in the world, and Mulder has already ceased to make sense even to himself, saying yes and please and god and fuck me in incoherent combinations.

When he is all the way in, the other man's hands slide over Mulder, brushing his throat, his nipples, his cock, and come to rest on his hips. The short nails dig in, and Mulder is held so efficiently he can hardly move; he can only let it happen. It happens slowly, gradually, building in barely perceptible increments. Mulder can't stop shaking, doesn't know if he'll ever come, can't make his throat work to ask his lover to touch him, touch his cock. But just when the thrusts are coming so hard they start to cross the line into pain, a warm hand wraps firmly around his cock, and with only one hand holding him still, Mulder can move, finally, into the hard thrusts, into the grasping hand, into an orgasm that tears his voice from his chest and sends him into a serene blackness that wipes out everything.

When his senses return, a moment later, his lover is gasping fiercely, the landed-fish sound of a man who has just come and is trying to stay in control. One sweaty hand leaves Mulder's hip, skitters up his side, and cups his cheek. "It's all right, Fox," his lover says at last, his voice deep and husky and breathless. "I've got you."

Recognizing the voice, Mulder turns and meets Walter Skinner's dark eyes.

Mulder turned over on the couch. The smell of the leather was getting to him; the dream had been so vivid.... After a minute he threw off the blanket, got up, and went to stand by the window, looking out into the night.

*********   
end

 

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*****************************  
Wet Dreams IV: Green Velvet  
by Merri-Todd Webster  
*****************************

She was wearing green. 

Walter Skinner cursed himself for his weakness, but there it was. Right there, inside the trousers of his tuxedo, hard and ready. Right in the middle of a boring retirement dinner which everyone was expected to attend. The Bureau's oldest and kinkiest AD was retiring, going home to a buxom wife half his age, and at a dinner in his honor, AD Walter Skinner had a stiff one because Agent Scully was wearing green.

With her fair skin, light eyes, and vividly red hair, green seemed like the ideal color for Dana Katherine Scully, but she rarely wore it. Cream, beige, navy, taupe, plum, but not green. Skinner had realized five minutes ago that he'd been waiting for her to wear that color since the first time he laid eyes on her. A deep forest green, the green of forest floors carpeted with spruce, of northern mountains, of deep glades where nothing walked on two feet, of twilight seen through a canopy of leaves. It made him want to lay hands on her along with eyes, to touch her everywhere and make sure she was a real woman, not a tree spirit.

Skinner gulped at his scotch and regretted it instantly; the whisky was not good enough to gulp. Swaying, he retreated further into the corner where he'd taken refuge at the first signs of arousal, never taking his eyes off the petite redhead in the green velvet gown. It was simple and elegant, leaving bare her arms, her shoulders, and her upper breasts, clinging to her torso, sweeping the floor. A necklace of green and rose stones glittered at her throat. Her hair was gathered up into a green barette, maybe jade, exposing all of her neck and some of her back to view.

Not a few heads turned at that view, and Skinner found himself wanting to wring the necks that supported them. And then there was Mulder. Mulder at Scully's elbow, looking impossibly good in a tuxedo, as if the garment had been invented just for him. Skinner always felt like a gorilla in formal clothes, too big, too hairy, too muscular. Mulder was a clothes horse, with a body apparently meant to display sartorial splendors. Skinner had been plagued so often, of late, with sexual fantasies about one or the other of these agents that he really didn't know whether he wanted to wring Mulder's beautiful neck or force him to his knees and use his mouth to relieve this godawful erection.

Growling under his breath, Skinner fled the ballroom, looking for the most distant and unpopulated men's room he could find. He had to go down to the basement to meet his requirements, but it *had* to be done. He could not walk around all night grinding his teeth in rhythm with the throbbing of his dick.

In the stall, he undid the perfectly fitted trousers and lowered them, clumsy with haste, and peeled his briefs down over his considerable length. Bracing himself with one hand on the chilly tiled wall, he took hold of his cock with the other. He should just jerk off and get it over with, get back up there and be seen as he was expected to, but he justcouldn't. That green dress clinging to those exquisite breasts....

He lays aside the jacket of his tux and loosens the tie. Dana is watching him, her eyes glittering in the light of a single lamp. Feeling a little more comfortable, he approaches her, smiling, and gathers her into his arms. Her bare arms twine around his neck and her lips part as he bends to kiss her. She's tiny, but the passion in her kiss speaks of strength to match his own, and he doesn't want to let her go. His hands slide up and down her back, crossing repeatedly between the rich green velvet of her gown and the subtler velvet of her creamy skin.

Eventually they have to come up for air. His gaze lingers on her mouth, even fuller than usual because of the kiss. His hands shift from her back to her shoulders, so small and fragile in his grasp, and then to her breasts. A tiny sound escapes her as he kneads them gently, fingers on skin, palm on velvet, but he doesn't want to rush. He lets go of her, steps back, circles around her to undo the carven green jade clip that secures her hair. It falls over his hands and her neck like liquid fire, soft, scented with her perfume. He trails his fingers through it and bends to nibble lightly at her neck.

"I won't break," she says huskily. "You don't have to be so careful."

She's smiling. He smiles back. "Yes, I do," he says ruefully. "I'm an old man, and if I'm not careful, this will be over far too soon and you'll be listening to me snore for the rest of the night."

She giggles, a sound like good champagne bubbling out of the bottle, and puts her hands on his chest. "You can see more of me than I can of you," she observes, beginning to unbutton his shirt. He stands still, just about holding his breath, until she has opened all the buttons and pulled the shirt out of his waistband. The look in her eyes as she spreads the shirt open and runs her hands over his bare chest is frankly appreciative, and her touch feels appreciative, too--so appreciative that he has to take hold of her hands.

"Dana," her name feels so strange, "I really want to do this for you. Please let me do it. If there's another time <please God>, I'll let you return the favor." 

Smiling, she nods. "Sit down," he urges. She sits on the bed, and he kneels in front of her. He starts by taking off her shoes and massaging her feet, amazed all over again by how small they are. The contrast between her physical size and her strength of her character has always astonished, intrigued, and aroused him. She wiggles her toes in his grasp and wiggles more when he kisses her instep.

As his hands glide up her legs, she leans back on her elbows, letting him do whatever he wants. He expects to reach up to her waist to pull down her pantyhose, but she surprises him: The stockings stop at her thighs, supported by garters. Oh Lord. He groans softly at the thought of Dana Scully in a garter belt. Then his hands feel a little further, and he groans more loudly, jerking back his hand as his fingers brush across moist curls--

She giggles again and lies back, hands behind her head, parting her thighs invitingly. He pushes up the skirt just far enough that he can see the dark red garters to unsnap them. She lifts one leg and then the other, gracefully, so he can peel down the silky stockings and uncover silkier skin, skin that demands to be touched with his lips. So smooth.... The smell of her perfume is stronger and mingled now with something else, something better--the smell of her arousal.

Trying to slow himself down, he sits back on his heels. Dana sits up and reaches behind her back, and the zipper on the bodice whispers as she draws it down. She arches her back just a little, her eyes focused on his, her gaze collected and yet heated at once. His fingers are almost trembling as he pulls the fabric away from her skin.

Perfect breasts, perfect for the rest of her. Small, shapely, white, crowned with crinkled rose-pink nipples that are silently begging for attention. It's Dana's turn to moan as he gives them some, fingers, lips, and tongue all equally hungry for the feel and the taste of her. He hardly realizes when she falls back on the bed, writhing under his chest as he fondles both breasts at once, using his teeth, holding her with his weight. Her loud cry is so sharp and sudden that he draws back, afraid.

"Dana, did I hurt you? Was I too rough?"

This time it's not a giggle, but a lazy chuckle. "Hurt me? Far from it." She twines her arms around his neck again. "You must have known other women who could come from having their breasts sucked."

He grins. "Actually, no." And grins broader. "So you like oral attention, huh...?"

He pushes the skirt up further, up to her waist. Oh yes. This is what he's been wanting to see. This is the answer to what has practically become an interoffice pool. Dana Scully really *is* a redhead, all the way down. She shifts her hips and spreads her thighs still wider, showing him what the red curls cover: A flower of deeply pink flesh, glistening with arousal. The smell of her pussy hits him harder than any scotch ever could, making him so hard it feels like his cock is going to rip through his trousers.

She comes again as soon as his tongue touches her. He forgets about finesse and being careful and making it last; all he wants to do is make her come, make her cry out again, make her thrust her cunt against his face. He covers her cunt with his mouth as if it were her mouth, kissing it, thrusting his tongue into the folds, sucking on her clit, licking hard and making her hips rock with the force of it. Her noises are like firecrackers going off, ah! ah! ah! and he's growling into her, hips against the bed, oh God--

"Dana!"

Skinner let go, keeping just enough presence of mind to hit the water in the bowl and not come all over the seat and the wall. It felt like weeks of tension went out of him with his semen; his brain turned to jello and his bones to water. After a moment, he managed to straighten up, wipe himself and then the toilet with some tissue, and flush. Deep breath, straighten the tie, and he stepped out of the stall--

\--and straight into Fox Mulder, leaning against the sink with his hand in his pants.

*********

 

* * *

 

Thu, 7 May 1998 13:57:49 -0400 (EDT)  
<>  
DISCLAIMER: I know these people don't belong to me, but they insist on living in my head and telling me all their kinks, so what am I gonna do? To Chris Carter be endless glory.  
Definitely slash, definitely NC-17, definitely no plot. Archive at MSSS.  
Feedback welcomed at .

* * *

*********  
Wet Dreams V: Questions and Answers  
by Merri-Todd Webster  
*********

Fox Mulder could not believe his ears. He had fled the Bureau party on the eleventh floor in search of a remote, empty bathroom where he could jerk off in peace. He didn't know which was worse--Dana looking like a wood nymph, her breasts about to ripen right out of that fabulous green gown--or Walter Skinner in a perfectly fitted tuxedo, looking like the alpha of all alpha males. The man didn't seem to notice that women who passed near him left a trail of moisture on the floor, and for that matter, so did the men.

And in this dingy bathroom somewhere in the basement of a well-known Washington hotel, where he'd hoped to be alone with the urgency of his cock, Mulder found someone had beaten him to it. The other man in the bathroom stall hadn't even heard him enter, he was so lost in the experience. The unmistakable sounds of a man jerking off, the little grunts, the slide of palm over cock, the hoarse breathing, went right to Mulder's groin, and he leaned against the sink, moving softly, loosened his tie, and opened up his pants. Biting hard on his lip to muffle his own sounds, he reached into his shorts and stroked himself. Oh, yesss.... He needed this. He needed it bad. If he was careful, he could time his own orgasm to match the other man's. And if he was lucky....

Mulder wrapped his fingers tightly around his cock and stroked diligently, smooth and fast. The other man--a big man, from the sound of him--had already gotten quite a head start. He was breathing harshly, panting, the rhythm broken now and again by a sound that was almost a growl. A deep, basso growl, low and feral, the noise of a hunting cat prowling the woods by night. Oh, yeah....

A louder growl bounced off the tiled walls of the bathroom. Mulder threw back his head, feeling his balls tighten up, fearing the other man was too far ahead of him. The man in the stall made a noise like someone had gripped his throat; then his voice broke through again, in a roar like a lion over his kill, calling out a woman's name.

Mulder froze. The name was "Dana". The voice was that of his boss, Walter Skinner.

Later he would think that he could have moved, could have gotten away, must not have wanted to, after all. At the moment, however, he was frozen in his position against the sink, still holding his trembling cock, while he listened to Skinner take a deep breath, get tissue off the roll, probably wipe himself off, and then flush. And step out of the stall.

Skinner's eyes widened behind the trademark glasses. For a second the two of them stared at each other, one a deer caught in the headlights, the other a hunter who didn't expect to see the stag walk right in front of his rifle. Then Skinner moved, coming chest to chest with his agent in one step.

"What are you doing here, Mulder?"

The tone was harsh, accusatory, but Skinner's hand went to Mulder's arm and swept down his wrist, past the folds of fabric, to close over Mulder's, over Mulder's cock. The younger man moaned softly as thick fingers wedged themselves between his own and put pressure on his aroused organ.

"Have you got anything to say for yourself, boy?"

Mulder shuddered. There were a million things he wanted to say, 99% of them totally inappropriate things for an FBI agent to say to his AD. Something that wasn't exactly a smile tightened the corners of the older man's mouth, and he leaned forward so that he was within inches of Mulder's face, dark eyes focused mercilessly on Mulder's.

"Why did you have to jerk off, boy?"

Mulder wet his lips, sucked in air. He *had* to answer. "Because of Scully, sir. And--and because of you."

Those strong fingers squeezed him expertly. Cautiously, he began to slip his own hand away, to yield control of cock to Skinner. The AD didn't tell him not to.

"Have you ever fucked Agent Scully, Mulder?"

"No, sir."

"Do you want to?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you want to fuck me, Agent Mulder?"

A slow stroke up the length of his cock. "Yes--"

"Or do you want me to fuck you?"

"Y-Yes, sir!"

Mulder shuddered again as Skinner's large hand stroked down, firmly, spreading out around the base of his cock to caress his balls.

"Drop your pants." Those dark eyes were implacable. Mulder had no trouble bucking his boss's authority in the office, in the field, but here and now--he didn't want to. He dropped the tuxedo trousers without hesitation and peeled down his boxers. The porcelain sink was cold against his ass, but the hand that held him was hot and very strong.

"You've been good so far, Mulder. You've answered all the questions I've asked you. But you're going to have to answer a few more."

"Yes, sir. Anything, sir." <Just please touch me, keep touching me-->

"Did you hear me jerking off?" Skinner kneaded his agent's erection gently.

"Yes, sir."

"Did you know it was me?"

"No, sir, not until--" He couldn't speak as Skinner's thumb swirled over the drooling head of his organ.

"Until what?"

Mulder swallowed drily. "Until I heard you say Agent Scully's name."

"Would you like to see me fuck Agent Scully?"

<Would I? The truth--> "Yes, sir."

"Do you think she's attracted to me?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Is she attracted to you?" The steady strokes were getting faster. Mulder whimpered.

"Yes, sir, I think so, sir."

Again the thumb passing over the sensitive, wet slit. "Do you think she would like watching me fuck you?"

"Oh, God--" He gasped. "I don't know, sir!"

"But you'd like to get fucked while she's watching, wouldn't you, Mulder?"

He sagged into Skinner's grasp, the hand on his cock and the arm around his shoulders. "Yes, sir."

"What do you want, boy?" Hard, fast strokes, pumping.

"I want you to make me come."

"What else do you want?"

"I want you to fuck me. I want to see you fuck Scully."

The supporting arm tightened. Mulder bucked into the hand that was possessing him--not much longer, Skinner had to know--

"Do you want to fuck her?"

"Yes!"

"Say her name!"

It was all over. Mulder clutched at Skinner and thrust until his back was arched like a bow, and as the hot wet surge spilled out of him, he screamed, "*Dana*!" as passionately as Skinner had.

The two of them stood there, silent except for the sound of their breathing, leaning on each other. When Mulder started to straighten up, Skinner let him go. He turned away, and Mulder thought he might just walk out, in silence, but he only ducked into a stall again, came back with a wad of tissue which he offered Mulder. As he cleaned himself off, Mulder noticed Skinner was getting hard again.

When Skinner finally spoke, his voice was softer than Mulder had ever heard it, except perhaps when Scully had been in the hospital, when the cancer went into remission. "Mulder, we can do one of two things. We can walk out of here, separately, and never mention this incident again. Or we can leave together, and go on from here." He stopped, waited.

"Go on how?"

"Go on to get what we really want--by seducing Scully." Skinner grinned, a startling but delightful sight. "If she'll have us."

Mulder felt an answering grin stretching the corners of his mouth and sending ripples of heat through his chest and pelvis. "I'm willing to give it a try."

They left the men's room together.

*********  
End

 

* * *

 

Fri, 8 May 1998  
<>  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, but maybe in another life.... The characters are Chris Carter's, the words and the sex are mine.  
NC-17. Contains m/f, m/m, m/f/m sex--that's why it's longer than the others. Archive at MSSS.  
Feedback welcomed at .

* * *

*********  
Wet Dreams VI: Champagne  
by Merri-Todd Webster  
*********

Dana Scully was getting annoyed with her partner. Being annoyed with Fox Mulder was, unfortunately, not a new experience for her. Mulder was frequently annoying, irritating, infuriating, baffling, disappointing, etc. On the other hand, he was also fascinating, stimulating, entertaining, mind-boggling, and very, very easy on the eyes.

He had excused himself some minutes ago, presumably to go to the bathroom. If he'd been another woman, Dana wouldn't have wondered yet where he was, but like most men, he prided himself on his ability to get in and out of the bathroom at light speed. He'd been gone a good fifteen minutes, and she was beginning to wonder if perhaps he'd ditched her for some other woman. Or for that matter, for some other man.

<He probably thinks I didn't notice the way he was looking at Skinner. I wonder if he noticed the way Skinner was looking at *me*.> She touched her necklace lightly, tiny ovals of rose quartz and aventurine interspersed with tinier gold beads. <Or the way I was looking at both of them.> She took more than a sip of her champagne.

Just as she was considering going to look for him, Dana spotted Mulder across the room. He was with Walter Skinner. She sighed, very quietly. They both looked so good tonight, it was a trial to be around them. Mulder looked like he was born to wear a tux. Of course, he looked good in just about anything, the clothes horse. If he *had* been a woman, she'd hate him for being so tall and slim. And of course, probably everybody who saw them together assumed they were lovers, which was totally wrong, and wondering if he screwed as good as he looked, about which Dana had no idea....

And then there was Skinner. He was really too big and too muscular for a tux, but that was precisely why he looked so good in it. You couldn't help hoping that he would burst out of its black-and-white confines at any moment, rather like the Incredible Hulk, and show some of that splendid build. Although the Hulk's trousers never tore, which in this case would be a pity....

Now he and Mulder were coming toward her, side by side. Skinner's head was tilted, listening to something Mulder was saying, and Mulder was smiling wickedly. The two of them looked like little boys who had just put a frog in some poor girl's bed. What were they up to? And did it have anything to do with Dana Katherine Scully?

Skinner parted from Mulder just before they got close enough for Dana to hear what they were saying. Mulder drifted toward her, casual as Huck Finn with his hands in his pockets, and graced her with a smile that was almost a leer.

"Where have you been?" she asked, cursing herself for her querulous tone. Mulder smiled mysteriously.

"There was a line." This was so obviously a lie that she stared at him with open mouth. His smile widened.

"Hey, Scully, have I told you you look really good tonight?"

Her mouth dropped open a little wider. "Uh, no... No, you haven't." Of course he hadn't. As far as she could tell, he never noticed how she looked, except when she looked like death warmed over. She could come into the office naked as Godiva and painted like Lydia the Tattooed Lady, and he'd just start talking about the significance of tattoos in tribal cultures, or something.

He came closer, taking her elbow and starting to steer her gently through the press. "Well, you look fabulous. You--you're glittering. No, scintillating. You really should wear that color more often."

With his hand heating up her elbow, all she could say was, "Mulder, you're color-blind."

He glanced at her from under lowered lids. "I can't tell certain shades. That doesn't mean I don't see how good that color is for your skin and your hair."

He reached out and touched the wisps of hair over her forehead, with that almost reverent lightness that surprised and moved her every time she felt it. His eyes had turned almost as green as her gown. "Your breasts are so beautiful next to this green velvet...." 

She didn't know whether to hit him or just faint when he drew a fingertip across her breasts, just above the edge of the bodice. Her nipples spiked up so rapidly that she gasped, and the jerky inrush of breath joggled her arm and splashed champagne over her chest.

"Ooops, Scully, you've made a mess. Let me clean it up--"

Dana sagged backward as Mulder's tongue flickered gently over her skin, lapping up the spilled champagne. Now that he was bent over, she could see that he had steered her into a remote corner shielded by decorative draperies. No one could see them unless they came searching--but someone would soon *hear* them if he kept going the way he was--

She pushed Mulder away, reluctantly. Their eyes met, his as green as jade and swirling with promise, humor, desire. Something dangerous rushed through her, like the breaching of a dam, a flood taking everything in its path; something as powerful as the cool focus with which she normally went through life, but yin to its yang, opposite and necessary. Everything converged in her mind in three little words: <What the hell.>

"Not here. Can we get a room?"

A few minutes later, they were riding up in an elevator with several other people. Up and up, and one couple got off; another floor, and an older man left, only to be replaced by three Africans. They chatted musically in their native language until three floors later, and as soon as the doors closed behind them, Scully turned on Mulder and wound herself around him, pulling his mouth down to hers and kissing him with all the anger and desire and frustration of five years.

At the ding of the elevator doors, she fairly leaped away from him. She was trembling violently, but Mulder merely took her by the arm in courtly fashion and led her down the hall, to the right, around the corner. Room 1402. He unlocked the door and gestured for Scully to enter first.

She was at the foot of the bed before she saw him. All the breath went out of her lungs, and she plopped down on the mattress, her legs numb. Walter Skinner was sitting in the corner of the hotel room, hands clasped, legs crossed. He had taken off his jacket and tie, opened the dress shirt at throat and cuffs. The light of the lamp shone on his glasses, placed neatly on the table, on a bucket of champagne beside the glasses, and on a small brown paper bag.

Dana looked from Skinner to Mulder, who was still standing just beside her. Mulder was watching Skinner, focused on him as if mesmerized. Her head whipped around as Skinner got up and walked, no, *swaggered* over to them. She couldn't take her eyes off his chest.

He stopped right in front of her, but he wasn't looking at her. He and Mulder stared at each other. Were they staring each other down? Was this some sort of macho posturing, the two of them fighting for her charms? She was just about to say something that would take the wind out of both their sails when Skinner leaned forward and kissed Mulder.

Dana's eyes widened so far she feared they were going to fall out of their sockets. *Skinner was kissing Mulder?!* Yes, he certainly was. An instant's worth of indignation flashed through her mind <Why are they ignoring *me*?> and was replaced by gut-clenching arousal. Skinner's hand came up, cupped Mulder's cheek, crept around to slide through his hair and cradle the back of his head, fingers splaying across neck and skull. Mulder stepped closer, making a tiny sound, maybe it was a whimper, and oh my God, he opened his mouth for the kiss. Dana Scully had seen--and done--a lot more things sexual than most people guessed, but she had never watched two gorgeous men kiss while standing just inches away from her. It was almost unbearably exciting.

When the kiss ended, she could see that Mulder's mouth was deliciously swollen and he was trembling. <I would be, too.> Then Skinner sank to his knees in front of her and pressed his mouth carefully, questioningly to hers.

She could feel the heat of him, radiating out from his bare chest, crawling over her breasts, her nipples, rippling down into her cunt. He was being so gentle, *too* gentle, and Dana opened her mouth and sought entry with her tongue. Skinner responded, letting her in, letting her taste him, then taking control, thrusting between her lips, and then yielding, back and forth until she moaned. He drew back, catching her by her bare shoulder as she swayed dizzily. His smile made her suddenly palpably wet.

"We're here for you, Dana, if you want us."

She looked from Skinner to Mulder and back again. Her partner was smiling, shyly, hopefully. They were both waiting, waiting for her to make a decision.

Dana's thought process in those few seconds was too swift, too subtle, too complex to be performed or even rendered in words. When she was done thinking, she felt something had shifted inside her, like tectonic plates; her inner continents were rearranged. Without speaking, she stood up and stepped between the two men, going to the table with the bucket of champagne. Behind the bucket was a small tray with three glasses. Perfect. She could hear Mulder's and Skinner's quick, shallow breaths behind her and feel their gaze on her back as she opened the champagne bottle. Her fingers wanted to shake and fumble, but she controlled them by going through the motions slowly and deliberately, concentrating. She turned around only after she had opened the bottle, filled all three glasses with the bubbly beverage, and picked up two of them. Letting her eyes say everything, she held out one glass to each man in offering.

Mulder reached for his glass first, then Skinner followed suit. Dana picked up her own glass and lifted it for a toast. The two men clinked their glasses with hers, but no one said anything. Dana tilted the glass and drank, smoothly, until it was empty. Almost at once, the fizzy liquid started buzzing in her head like a swarm of bees.

Warm hands on her shoulders brought her awareness back to the moment. Her partner and her boss closed in on her in an embrace that encompassed both her and the other man. She heard their mouths meet and raised her face, waiting for her share. After a moment, full lips came down on hers, the taste of sunflower seeds spread into her mouth, and she stroked Mulder's tongue with her own, thinking, <Finally, finally!> One of them began unzipping her bodice; the other, probably Mulder, to judge by the angle, deftly removed the clasp from her hair.

When Mulder let go of her mouth, she turned to Skinner--<Walter,> she corrected herself--shaking out her hair. The dress slid down her body in a sensual whisper as she pressed herself against the large man, bare breasts to bare chest, making both of them moan. Walter kissed her hard and she kissed right back, and that must be Mulder nibbling at her neck and shoulders....

She didn't really see the men undress. They settled her on the bed, and then Walter was on top of her, kissing her, naked to the waist. Dana ran her hands over all those perfectly delineated muscles, naming them by their medical names in her mind as her hands travelled down.... <Gluteus maximus,> she thought, and giggled into Walter's mouth. He rolled away, only to pull Mulder onto the bed and kiss him as decisively as he'd kissed Dana, while she watched in fascination. Watching that supple mouth yield to Walter's was nearly as arousing as feeling it fuse with her own mouth.

She turned toward Mulder, baring her back to Walter. He groaned softly as her stiff nipples rubbed against his. Mulder wasn't as muscular or as hairy as Walter, but he was definitely male, elegantly male, her fingers savored the curve of his spine. Walter was kissing her neck and squeezing her ass in those very large hands, and Mulder had already kissed his way down to her throat and seemed to be heading lower.

For a while both men were concentrating on Dana, with occasional pauses to get more of their own clothing out of the way. All the sensations swirled together in her mind like chocolate and vanilla and caramel sauce: stroking, squeezing, nibbling, rubbing, licking, suckling, Walter, Mulder, four hands, two mouths. There was no thinking, not even feeling as she usually understood the term. Spread out on the bed, an arm around each neck, a hungry mouth on each nipple, she seemed to be absorbing an energy she'd never experienced before.

The energy hit a new level, a quantum leap beyond the previous one, when their hands went between her legs. She was already swimmingly wet, her cunt an ocean cavern where the sea went in and out. She arched helplessly as her clit was captured between thumb and fingertip, while long, slim fingers slipped inside her, stroking and massaging the wet velvet of her inner walls. <Is that *me* whimpering?> Walter was making a sort of low purring sound, a tiger's purr, and Mulder was silent with concentration, watching her face as his strokes gradually intensified into fucking. Dana gasped for breath, couldn't find it, felt every muscle diverted to another task: Her whole body became a single contraction, the big crunch at the end of the universe leading inexorably to a big bang, it was coming, she was coming, and she screamed, actually screamed, vibrating in the wake of the biggest orgasm she'd ever had.

There was a momentary pause. Dana wondered briefly if she'd ruined their hearing, or her own. Then she whimpered, once, as Mulder withdrew his fingers, only to groan as Walter's shorter but thicker fingers took their place. She forced her eyes open just in time to see Mulder offer his glistening hand to Walter, who licked up her wetness with evident enjoyment before starting to fuck her again.

With Mulder feasting on her breasts and Walter pounding her pussy mercilessly, she must have come another two or three times. Finally she had to grab Walter's wrist--did the man never tire? "I need a rest," she murmured, and then smiled. "You two carry on without me."

This time it was Mulder who made the first move toward the older man, leaning across Dana's collapsed form to grab Walter by his chest hair and lock lips with him. Dana promptly forgot about the slight soreness between her legs and started gushing all over again. Walter started to climb over her, and she wiggled to the left, leaving the middle of the bed to the two men. Walter settled down on top of Mulder with the same determination he had settled onto her; chest to chest, the two of them kissed thoroughly, languorously, making Dana squirm with renewed desire. The fact that Mulder was lying helplessly under the older man just as she had been, tasting and being tasted, was doing incredibly erotic things to her psyche.

Suddenly Mulder shifted, and the bed bounced under them as he rolled Walter over and got on top. Not so helpless, then. Walter moaned softly as Mulder licked and bit at his neck, nuzzled his collarbone, and fastened greedily onto a nipple. Dana reached over and twisted the other nipple gently between her fingers, letting go when Mulder turned his mouth that way. She was torn between watching Mulder's mouth buried in the AD's dark, springy chest hair, or watching Walter's face dissolve with pleasure at the younger man's touch.

The tension in her pussy twisted up tightly as Mulder began kissing his way down Walter's belly. Oh, God, was he going to--? Dana moaned as loudly as Walter when Mulder sucked Walter's cock into his mouth. Good Lord, he could take the whole thing in. Dana speculated that Mulder had done this more often than she had.

Walter twined his fingers in Mulder's hair, as gently as possible, and so did Dana. Mulder worked over the large, thick cock as if he were painting psychedelic designs with his tongue, swirling up and down the considerable length. Walter moaned beseechingly, and Dana's other hand went unerringly to her clit. She didn't know which she wanted more: to be fucked herself, or to watch one of them fuck the other. Mulder detoured over the older man's powerful thighs, leaving the dark hair glistening with his saliva, and cupped Walter's balls in his hand. He paused for just a moment, his mouth not touching anywhere, and then plunged down on Walter again, taking his whole cock in.

Walter roared, thrusting up so fiercely he must have gagged his lover. Mulder didn't pull back, but Walter pushed him away. "No," he growled. He stroked the younger man's face possessively. "I want to fuck Dana. I want you to fuck me."

Mulder's eyes widened as much as Dana's. He licked his lips and said, "Go ahead, if Dana's ready, but lie on your back, with her on top of you."

Walter turned to Dana, his eyes questioning her. She nodded eagerly, and he got off the bed, his cock preceding him magnificently, and retrieved the brown paper bag from the corner table. The other two both smiled as he took out condoms and lubricant.

Mulder took charge and rolled a mint-green condom onto Walter, smoothing it down sensuously. Walter grabbed the tube of lubricant and coated himself thoroughly. Dana was glad; she had never had a lover this big before, and the lubricant would help psychologically as well as physically. He propped himself up against the headboard, in the middle of the mattress, and held out his hand to her, but when she rose to her knees, Mulder stopped her with a touch on her arm.

"Face his feet, Scully, and then lie back on him."

<Funny,> she thought, <he won't call me Dana even now.> But if he didn't call her Scully, he wouldn't be Mulder, so it was all right. With a hand from both men, she knelt astride Walter's hips, facing his feet, and Mulder helped her position Walter for entry. Slowly, cautiously, she lowered her weight onto him, feeling the broad blunt head of his cock split open her folds as if she were an overripe fruit. Proceeding with tiny spiral motions, she eased him in, Mulder's hand on the small of her back, on the tattoo. She took more and more and there was still more, thick, hard, so hot it ought to be liquid, stretching her satiny insides. Her inner tissues cooperated amazingly, yielding to the unaccustomed presence, accepting the lubricant and producing more to supplement it.

Finally she felt her clit graze the hairs on his balls. Sighing deeply, she lay back against his chest, happy as his arms came round her, his hands cupped her aching breasts. Smiling luxuriantly, Mulder stretched out between her spread legs, between Walter's legs; she felt his breath across the fur of her mound.

Sparks flew behind Dana's eyes as Mulder delicately tongued her clit. So this was what he'd had in mind.... He explored the wet, swollen folds of her pussy, down to where Walter filled her, and then left Dana's flesh for Walter's, licking what little of his cock was still visible, and lapping at his balls. Walter groaned deep in his chest, an earthquake rumble against Dana's back, and quivered inside her. Mulder's adoring mouth wandered back onto her thigh, circled over her lower belly to the other thigh, and found its way back to her clit. One hard suck, and she contracted around Walter, groaning as profoundly as he had at the feel of her muscles bearing down on his bigness. Mulder sucked her again, and her thighs shook with the force of it. He raised his head, looked at the two of them, and then dragged his tongue hard from the base of Walter's cock all the way up to Dana's clit--and *sucked*.

For the second time that night, she let out a deafening scream, a sopranino blast worthy of an opera diva. Mulder sat up, grinning smugly and licking his lips at the same time. "I want to fuck you now, Walter." Walter groaned.

Dana lifted herself off of the older man. The cute green condom was slicked to his skin by her juices, all but the bottom-most inch. Mulder rolled Walter onto his side, coaxing him to bend the upper leg and turn so his ass was more visible.

Wishing she had her trusty vibrator with her, Dana sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on one hand, to watch Mulder prepare Walter's asshole for fucking. She'd never been interested in anal stimulation herself, but watching them made her willing to give it a try. Mulder spread Walter's cheeks with both hands and daubed lubricant over the dark little orifice, smearing it gently in small circles. Walter breathed harshly and shifted, exposing himself a little more. Dana did not even blink as Mulder inserted one finger into the opening, millimeter by millimeter until his knuckles were against the curved muscles. He moved that finger in and out, slowly and gently but with an undeniable rhythm, until his lover's hips joined the rhythm, accompanied by soft groans. Then he carefully pulled out, squeezed more lube onto his hand, and began again with two fingers.

By the time Mulder got to three fingers, Walter was groaning and cursing incoherently, and Dana was fairly sure she'd had an orgasm without being touched. Mulder groped for a condom and tore open the package, nodding to his partner. "Take him in you again." She climbed over Walter's legs and lay on her side facing him, kissing his face and his chest. He captured her mouth, savagely, and at the same time grabbed her thigh and drew it over his. His huge cock went back into her in one long unstoppable thrust, and she shook her head in disbelief as another orgasm swept through her.

Behind Walter, Mulder pushed at the older man's back. "I'm going in, now," he announced. Dana held very still, feeling Walter being pressed into her, feeling him tremble, as Mulder penetrated him. This was Walter Skinner, the Bureau's meanest AD, one of the toughest men she'd ever met, shaking and all but whimpering with pleasure as one of his agents fucked him, filing his ass. She held onto him, murmuring meaninglessly, as if he needed to be reassured.

She couldn't see Mulder--her face was against Walter's chest--but she could *feel* when he withdrew and thrust in again. It wasn't so much that Walter moved as that the shock of Mulder's motion went through Walter to her. Her insides rippled, pleased and expectant. She hung on, her mouth open on a brown nipple, as Mulder thrust again, and again. Walter's hands came down to cup her ass, to pull her against him, to reach around her thigh and rub roughly on her clit. Gasping, she climaxed again, caught between the friction without and the friction within, Walter's rough fingers and Mulder's increasingly harder thrusts.

Walter was beginning to move now, his hips counterpointing Mulder's. Back onto Mulder's cock, forward into Dana's cunt. The rhythm was different but she loved it, it was the music she needed. All three of them were groaning together now, drums and drones and wailing voices in their heads, and Dana realized she was coming over and over, squeezing Walter's cock again and again, laughing or sobbing with pleasure and unable to stop--

A short, high-pitched cry broke the rhythm. Mulder slamming against his lovers and climaxing, crying out, his arms around both of them. With an indescribable noise that seemed to come from his balls, Walter followed, pumping hard against Dana. She shuddered in his arms, her name forgotten, everything forgotten, as one last orgasm split her in two, melted her down, and tempered her back together again.

It was very, very quiet in the hotel room. Dana felt tired, a little sore. Walter grunted as Mulder withdrew; the younger man got up and vanished into the bathroom. Dana eased away, cupping a hand over her mound; it felt like a great, gaping hole. Walter rolled onto his back, still breathing pretty heavily, and stared at the ceiling. Mulder returned from the bathroom, and Walter heaved himself up and staggered in there himself.

Dana grabbed a couple of tissues and wiped gingerly at her crotch. Residual warmth spread through her body, along with some unease. What now? Mulder wasn't quite looking at her. Walter was in the bathroom a long time. For lack of something to do, she got up and poured herself some more champagne. For the first time she noticed that it was quite good, much better than the champagne at the retirement party. Had Walter bought this? She supposed he must have.

He emerged from the bathroom as she finished the glass and stopped beside her. Mulder was standing on the far side of the bed. Putting one hand on her shoulder, Walter refilled her glass with the other hand and poured more for himself as well. Dana went to the bedside table, got Mulder's glass, and held it out to Walter, looking up at him. He was smiling as he poured the last of the champagne. They both turned to Mulder, and Dana held out the glass to him. He came over and took it, his face closed, unreadable. Dana reached up and brushed her fingers across his mouth. Under that touch, his face relaxed; the eyes that met hers, then looked to Walter, were still a leafy green. She clinked her glass against Mulder's, against Walter's, they clinked their glasses together, and the three of them drank.

*********  
end


End file.
